


Living Proof

by Gildedmuse



Category: Rent (2005), Rent - Larson
Genre: Angst, Gift Fic, Grief/Mourning, HIV/AIDS, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, Short One Shot, Smut, Unrequited Love, Unrequited Mark/Roger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 02:05:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18729511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gildedmuse/pseuds/Gildedmuse
Summary: After Mimi's death, everyone is scared of breaking Roger.





	Living Proof

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheHeroHeart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHeroHeart/gifts).



> [Originally posted to LJ in 2006 as a birthday gift to Krissy]

**Living Proof**

 

“What was that about?”

 

Roger wraps his jacket tighter around his shoulders as if that is really going to keep out the biting February weather. He could just get out of the cold, but instead he is standing at the steps of the Community Center watching Mark and Collins disappearing down the street.

 

They’d been sitting in Life Support, Roger watching Mark film some newcomer’s introduction and trying to ignore the empty seat next to him. Everything is quite except for Mary’s voice and the roll of Mark’s film and Steve coughing. It’s just like every meeting he’d attended these past few weeks, or it is until Roger is out of his seat and shouting at Mark. Screaming for him to turn that damn camera off, and who wanted to be filmed like this and why is he even there if he’s not sick?

 

Besides Roger’s shouting, the room is still silent. No one gets up, no one tells him to sit down. Mark drops the camera and stares down at his lap like he’s a beaten kid but no one gets mad. They’re all so afraid to say anything after Mimi’s death. No one wants to give Roger a reason to go back to drugs or lock himself in the loft for another year. They’re all scared to be the one to slip up and send him spiraling down into depression. They don’t get that Roger had known, had sat with Mimi for a month and watched her die and had agreed to be okay for her.

 

Mark is the worst. He’s supposed to be Roger’s best friend, to understand him no matter what, but Mark has gone out of his way to handle Roger with care. So Roger snaps at him, in front of the whole group, and when he’s done Mark just stands up and leaves with Collins trailing after him. After a few seconds of listening to the silence of the group stretch out, Roger follows them out.

 

Paul must have ended the meeting, because Roger is still standing there watching his friends leave him behind when the rest of the group walks out. Everyone is sure to keep their eyes on the ground as they pass. Everyone expect some curly haired guy, Gordon, maybe, who asks, “What was that about?”

 

Roger looks over his shoulder at the guy, glaring at him and his reprimanding tone. Like it’s Roger’s fault his friends don’t understand him. “None of your business,” Roger answers, hands shaking as they reach around his pockets looking for his cigarettes. Something to distract him even if it’s just a smoke.

 

“I just-“ Whatever Gordon is going to say next is cut off by the thin hand resting on his shoulder. Paul steps out from the building smiling down at both of them. He looks so old and sick, even though he’s neither, and Roger wonders why anyone would throw themselves into this life if they had a choice.

 

Paul lets go of Gordon’s shoulder and moves down the steps towards Roger. “Feeling better?” He asks. It’s weird to hear his voice outside the large room where the meetings are, where the world isn’t being perfectly still for him. Instead, all of New York is moving around them, noisy and alive and Paul can hardly be heard above the sounds of the city.

 

Roger takes a long drag, white smoke looking just like his breath as it hits the cold air. The problem is he’d thought he’d had everything under control and he was better, and then he went and snapped at Mark. “Yeah, fine,” he mutters, looking away from Paul and back down the street where Mark and Collins are long gone.

 

Now Paul’s hand is clasping him on the shoulder. Roger jerks back from the contact immediately, turning to glare at Paul. He’s not in the mood to pretend he’s these people’s friend, that he is coming to these meetings for any reason other than Mimi and Mark want him, beg him, need him to. Paul keeps smiling, looking up and motioning Gordon down the steps to join them. “Why don’t we all go out for drinks?”

 

Roger takes another smoke, looking over Gordon and Paul. Not the people he’d usually want to be stuck drinking with. Thinking back to his friends, though, it doesn’t seem likely they’ll be comfortable around him for a while. Fuck, he doesn’t want to deal with those consequences just yet. He needs a distraction, and here one is right in front of him. So despite the fact that Paul is way too friendly and Gordon seems like a bit of an ass, Roger nods in agreement. Can’t be any worse than putting up with Mark not talking to him all day.

 

*

 

Four minutes. Roger looks up over the rim of his beer at the clock on the cheap, fake wooden wall of the cheap, smoky bar. It’s been four minutes since Paul left for his shift at the hospital, paying for Gordon and Roger’s beer before wishing them well and calling for a cab. Four minutes, and Roger and Gordon haven’t exchanged a single word. Roger just sits there, staring down at his beer leaving a ring on the table as Gordon looks around at the small, quiet crowd. Maybe this could be worse than sitting around the loft watching Mark ignore him, or at least a lot more boring.

 

Roger watches the minute hand, waiting for it to land on the six. Five minutes, and he is out of here. He can at least grab his guitar, leave Mark to his filming and hide out on the roof until they’re both ready to act like this day never happened. The way Gordon is looking at everyone in the bar except for Roger, he’s probably just as anxious to get the hell out of here. Fuck waiting thirty more seconds. Roger tips back his glass, drowning what is left of the beer as he pushes his chair back. The loud scraping gets Gordon’s attention, eyes wide as he watches Roger slam his glass back down and get to his feet.

 

“You’re leaving?” Gordon asks, taking a small sip of his own drink. It’s the first thing they’ve said to each other in four and a half… five minutes. What did the guy expect Roger to do? He shrugs, picking up his jacket and slipping it back on. “You sure you don’t want another beer?” He asks. “My treat?”

 

Roger licks at his chapped lips, looking at the bar and the clock. Not like he has to get home by any time. What’s waiting for him other than Mark’s sad eyes and dead silence? “I guess…” Roger says, slowly sinking back into his seat.

 

Gordon smiles, taking another drink from his beer. “Sorry if I seem clingy,” he says, shrugging and going back to looking all around the bar. Like a teenager on a first date, and Roger snorts at the thought. “I just don’t want to go home yet. Student essays to grade and all that.”

 

Roger nods, like he has any idea what grading papers is like. He never even wrote them when he was in school, much less got to the point where he could grade them. “You a teacher?” He asks, singling to the bar for another drink.

 

“High school,” Gordon says, eyes finally making it back to Roger. “AP Physics. Supposedly, the kids are the smart ones.” Gordon snorts into his beer, drowning what is left in the cup. “They sure don’t act it.” He doesn’t sound like Collins, who always blames his kids’ lack of motivation on TV and society. Gordon sounds like he’s blaming the kids, like how he’d blamed Roger earlier for yelling at Mark.

 

Roger nods his thanks when the third beer is set in front of him. “Ah…” He mutters, staring down at his drink, unsure of what else he can say. What is he supposed to talk about with this guy? Hey, how long until you die? Roger shakes his head at the thought, hiding himself behind his beer mug for a few seconds.

 

Gordon seems to be thinking the same thing, or at least looks as uncomfortable as Roger is starting to feel about this whole situation. “Look,” he says, staring into his beer as he speaks. “I’m sorry your girlfriend died.”

 

“Mimi,” Roger snaps. Now he knows he doesn’t want to be here, doesn’t want to be talking about her with some guy who barely knew her and had no idea what she meant to Roger. Gordon is the first person other than Paul to try and talk with Roger about her, and he doesn’t know if he can. He couldn’t when Paul tried. Had ended up just walking out of the group leaving Mark to apologize for him. Roger is okay, just like he promised her he would be, but that doesn’t mean he wants the entire world to know how he feels about losing her.

 

“Yeah, Mimi,” Gordon says, scooting his drink around the small table. “She seemed sweet. Still…” Now he looks up at Roger, eyes strict and not at all the caring, soothing eyes of Paul or Mark’s careful, sad ones. “You had to have known she didn’t have much time left. And snapping at your friend like that isn’t exactly-“

 

That’s it. Roger almost tips his chair back when he stands suddenly, pulling his coat tight around himself as he storms out of the bar. Who the fuck does Gordon think he is to say something like that to Roger?

 

Walking down the sidewalk, trying to keep up his righteous anger at Gordon, Roger shuts his eyes tight and nearly trips over a trash can. He is right, and Roger hates that about him. Roger’s sick of everyone treating him like he’s fragile, but it’s supposed to be Mark who sees Roger is ready to keep living. It’s supposed to be his best friend, damnit, and not some high school math teacher he barely knows. Any of his friends would have been better than this. Even Maureen and her bluntness or Collins who is supposed to be smart enough to see through this kind of shit that Roger does. No, they’re all too busy treating him like he is about to collapse to notice how hard he’s trying to be okay.

 

“Wait!” Roger starts walking faster, growling a bit but otherwise not acknowledging Gordon as the guy jogs up to meet him.

 

Before Gordon can say anything more, Roger says, “Just get the fuck away from me.” Mark isn’t here to tell him to play nice, and Roger doesn’t feel like being the good guy. He feels like stalking up to the loft and slamming the door hard enough to make Mark jump. Sure, Mark will still be acting like nothing happened but at least seeing Roger this upset will force him into his mothering routine instead of just ignoring him.

 

“I just thought you might want to talk about it,” Gordon persists. Roger keeps storming down the street without looking at the guy, like if he ignores him long enough he’ll just go away. “I don’t get why you’re so upset. I was only being reasonable.”

 

“You don’t get why I’m upset?” Roger snaps, feeling dangerously close to doing something stupid. His curls his fingers into fists inside his jacket pocket, snaring at the Gordon and not bothering to hold back his emotions. “You bring up my dead girlfriend and then fucking yell at me-“

 

“I didn’t yell,” Gordon corrects, sounding offended but not backing down.

 

“-for snapping at my best friend? I’m pissed because I don’t see how it’s your fucking business.” At some point, Gordon comes to a halt in front of a building and Roger, who is supposed to be getting away from him, stops beside him. If for nothing else than to finish. “I have enough on my mind without you telling me what to do.”

 

Gordon seems unimpressed by Roger’s ranting. He takes a key out of his pocket and undoes the front door of the apartment building. “I wasn’t telling you what to do,” he says. “If you had stuck around long enough you would have known that.” Gordon sighs, running a hand through his mop of messy brown curls. “I was trying to be understanding. It’s something Paul suggested.”

 

Snorting, Roger pulls out another cigarette, lighting it up and holding the flame to his hands for a few seconds to try and warm them. “You’re not doing a very good job.”

 

There’s a long pause before Gordon shakes his head. “I just don’t understand,” he admits. “And I hate that. Everything has an explanation, a reason, and then you add the human factor and things get fucked up.” Roger gives Gordon a look, taking a long drag of his cigarette and is secretly thankful he never had to take physics in high school, because he has no idea what the hell this guy is talking about. “Everyone in Life Support,” Gordon continues, oblivious to Roger’s train of thought, “They seem so sure there is something to live for, or something to believe in.” Looking back to Roger (who is standing in the sidewalk, rubbing his hands together for warmth) Gordon trails off with a long sigh. “You…” he makes a motion at the open door behind him. “You want to come in? For a drink or something?”

 

For the second time that night, Roger is stupid enough to follow.

 

*

 

“Love is just hormones.”

 

Roger’s eyes flutter open. He rubs some of the blur away from his vision, looking around Gordon’s small apartment. He hadn’t been sleeping, just drifting very close. It’s nice and warm in this place, and Gordon’s couch is the most comfortable thing Roger’s sat on in a long time. This is also after another beer and a shared joint, so maybe that explains Gordon’s ramblings. Yawning, pulling himself from the half-conscious state of mind he’d been in, Roger looks down the small couch to Gordon who is curled up on the armrest, staring at him. “What?”

 

“Love,” Gordon repeats. “The feelings we associate with being in love, it’s just the release of certain hormones that can last up to two years. That’s all.”

 

Roger is used to people who babble on about philosophical-sounding junk when high. He lives with Collins, after all. “That’s bullshit,” he says, stretching out and rolling his shoulders some to wake his body up.

 

“No,” Gordon says, still staring at him. If Roger weren’t use to being on stage or having Mark’s worried eyes on him all the time, it might have been nerve-wracking to have Gordon staring at him like that. “It’s science.”

 

If there is one thing Roger knows, it’s love. He’s a musician, a songwriter whose muse is love. He can tell the differences between love and hormones. “I love…” He bends his head back, looking around the small apartment for his jacket, which somehow got off his shoulders. It’s bent over the kitchen counter, so Roger relaxes again. “I know the differences. I’ve loved people for more than two years.”

 

“With Mimi?” Gordon asks, eyes following Roger.

 

Chewing over his lip, Roger shakes his head and wonders why they’re talking about this. “Mark,” he answers, shifting around to get comfortable on the overstuffed couch again. “We’ve known each other… five years, I think.”

 

“And you’re in love with him?”

 

He’s been asked this question before. By Collins a long time ago, when he was still healthy and Mark and him had shared a few drunken kisses. By his mom on the phone during Roger’s withdrawals, when Mark was the only person in his life and the only one he could talk about. A month ago by Mimi, when she was reassuring him that everything would be all right and he had to move on for her. Roger gives his usual answer. “We take care of each other. We understand each other. We’ve been best friends for years; of course I love him.”

 

It’s the easiest way to answer without having to explain everything about his and Mark’s relationship. About how Mark sometimes plays the role of Roger’s guardian angel, and Roger’s always told himself it makes sense to fall in love with the only person who could stand to be around you when your life was falling apart. Not even Roger really gets what he feels for Mark, and he doesn’t want to try and explain it to someone like Gordon. Someone who thinks everything has a reason, but Mark and Roger don’t.

 

Gordon chews this over for a few seconds. “That isn’t what I was talking about. That’s friendship. That’s….”

 

“Unexplainable. You know, some things are.” He swears the other guy shivers, even in his nice warm apartment, and curls a little closer to the couch. Roger lives off emotional impulses, feelings and highs and lows that he can’t explain even to himself. Probably a good thing he’s so use to living like that, because there is none of this rational explanation stuff Gordon has been preaching when he leans across the couch to kiss Roger.

 

The kiss doesn’t even last long enough for Roger to realize he needs to react. Almost the second Gordon’s lips brush over his, the guy is flying back to his own side of the sofa. “Shit,” he mutters, running his hands through his hair and not looking at Roger. “Look, I’m sorry. I know you’re still dealing with Mimi’s death, and I shouldn’t have tried to take advantage of that. It’s just, it’s been eight years since Chris and I guess I overreacted.”

 

“I’m not dealing with Mimi’s death!” Roger snaps, sick of people assuming that. Of treating him like he’s going to break down. He had a month to hold Mimi, to deal with the inevitable. Why doesn’t anyone believe in him?

 

Since being rash is something Roger is good at, and Gordon is still babbling about shit like hormones, Roger makes the next move. He goes to kiss Gordon this time. Not just kiss, but slam their lips together hard enough to force Gordon back against the couch with a dull sounding thud. Roger kisses him deep and rough and like he has a point to prove. See? He is moving on, just like he promised Mimi, and he doesn’t need fucking Mark to do it.

 

Somewhere between the clash of teeth and tongue and lips, there is a small moan and Gordon relaxes underneath him. The more submissive and willing he turns, the more Roger lets up with the sloppy, domineering force until they’re making out like teenagers sprawled out on their parents’ couch. Gordon even circles his hands over Roger’s shoulders to hold him in place, and Roger’s fingertips slip under the hem of the other boy’s shirt, stroking at whatever skin he can reach.

 

All that talk of hormones comes back to him just as Gordon makes this small, desperate sound and rolls his hips up off the couch. His mouth trails across the curves of Gordon’s neck, fingers sliding further up his chest until his shirt is bunched under his arms. Roger manages to straddle Gordon’s hips and sit up, pulling the shirt over his head and tossing it to the side before leaning back in. His teeth scrape over a nipple, earning a sharp inhale from the guy beneath him.

 

“I’m fucking fine,” Roger growls, biting down hard on Gordon’s shoulder, and the other boy whimpers and keens off the bed as Roger licks at the sore patch of skin.

 

“Yes,” Gordon agrees, breathless and rubbing his body up against Roger’s, looking for more contact. “Ye-yes.”

 

Roger’s shirt gets torn away, and Gordon’s nails dig into his shoulders as he pulls him in for another rough kiss. When he pulls back, Gordon is looking up at him with wide, surprised eyes. Like a groupie who couldn’t believe their luck to have Roger take them home. He swallows hard, shifting under Roger’s weight until he can prop himself up on his elbows. “I have condoms in the…” He waves back at the bedroom, and Roger nods. He grabs Gordon’s arm, hauling him to his feet and leading him towards the bed.

 

“’M fine...” Roger needs to show that he has moved on, that he doesn’t need Mark’s attention. Gordon… He’s not sure why Gordon is following him so willingly, but he doesn’t give the guy much time to think. Just shoves him back on the bed, crawling over him and pulling him up for another rough kiss.

 

“God…” Gordon’s voice breaks the silence of their ragged breathing, spreading his legs as Roger’s hands stroke along his hips, his thighs, around but never there. Roger laps up the sweat gathering at the hollow of Gordon’s throat, sucking the pale skin into his mouth as his hands roam over his waist. There’s this nice haze of lust that is telling him not to think or worry, but just to do, and Roger is following it without question.

 

“Please,” Gordon whines as Roger’s tongue flicks across a nipple and his fingers stroke so gently along his hipbone, pushing him back when Gordon tries to arch off the bed. There is a small thing of lubricant being shoved into Roger’s hand, and Gordon is struggling to sit up, tearing the wrapper off a condom. He’s shaking, flushed and hard and nervous when he leans in to kiss Roger, fingers running along the musician’s cock as he slips the condom on.

 

Shoving Gordon back against the mattress, Roger leans in to bite at Gordon’s ear. With a strangled sound, Gordon pushes into his mouth, whining as Roger pulls back. His slick fingers fall between Gordon’s legs, rubbing up against his entrance. It’s been forever since he’s done this, since before April when he was still sleeping around with groupies and strangers. Back when it didn’t matter who he slept with, as long as he could have them begging for him. Like Gordon is doing now, biting down on his lip and rocking back into the finger slipping inside him. It’s a different type of attention, a different type of glory to have someone shaking and desperate and eager.

 

“Yes…” Gordon hisses, muscles tightening around Roger when he pushes up against that cluster of nerves, fingers twisting and scissoring until he has Gordon slamming back against him, voice breaking and lips trembling as he tries to speak. Roger can’t help but take Gordon’s lower lip into his mouth, sucking and playing with the lip as his thrusts get harder.

 

"Ready?” He whispers, licking at Gordon’s swallow mouth as the boy moans in reply. "Want me?" He nips at the lip, taking it back between his teeth and tugging gently on it. "If you just say it…." Roger pushes a third finger into Gordon, slowing the pace down to something torturous, barely brushing against that spot now.

 

Whimpering, hips pressing back into Roger’s fingers, Gordon nods. “Yes, please, more…” He’s wiggling around on the mattress, hands rubbing over Roger’s shoulders, trying to get him closer. “Please, please, Roger…”

 

Moaning, Roger slips between Gordon’s legs, grabbing his hips and pulling their bodies together. His fingers dig into Gordon’s skin, body shaking as he tries to hold himself back. Hard when Gordon is pressing back into him, filling the room with incoherent whimpers and words, heavy breathing and choked screams, flesh against flesh and the bed rocking back into the wall.

 

Gordon’s nails scrap along Roger’s back as Roger settles into him, groaning at the tight heat pulsing around his cock. He isn’t in the mood for slow and romantic, and the second Gordon starts rocking his hips back against Roger, he starts moving. Hard and rough, grabbing Gordon’s hips to lift him off the bed with every thrust. Gordon tightens and twists around him, slamming back against Roger’s cock until their bodies are sliding together with a harsh rhythm.

 

Roger’s fingers curl around Gordon’s erection, heavy in his hands. His muscles tighten; the heat pooled in his gut is becoming unbearable. Biting down, Roger comes without a sound, still riding out his orgasm when Gordon arches into him, screaming as he comes. Pulling free of Gordon, Roger collapses beside him, sweating and panting and just getting his thoughts back.

 

He’d done this to prove he is over Mimi, like he’d promised her, right? Mimi with her skin stretched over her bones, grabbing Roger’s hand and saying, “It’s okay that you never loved me.” Ignoring it when Roger insists that he loves her more than anything. Mimi saying, “Even if he doesn’t want you back, you love him more than anything. I hope he knows that.”

 

Mark telling Maureen after Mimi’s funeral, “I will always love you.” Ignoring Maureen pushing him away or Roger refusing to meet his eyes. “No matter who you’re with, I’ll always love you.”

 

Then Gordon, high and staring at Roger like he’s trying to solve a problem. “Love is just hormones.”

 

Grunting, Roger pushes himself off the bed. He stumbles to the floor, looking around for where his pants had been thrown. “You…” He doesn’t turn around when Gordon props himself up, watching Roger gather his things. “You’re leaving?”

 

“Yeah,” Roger mutters, pulling on his jeans and heading into the main room for his shirt and jacket. He needs to get home, back to the loft so Mark can ignore their problems and treat Roger like he’s breakable. Back to wondering what Mimi meant, thinking Roger hadn’t loved her and trying to be fine to her, to make it up to her that he isn’t what he should be.

 

There are some shuffling sounds and Gordon appears at the doorway in jeans. “I thought you’d….” Roger pulls on his jacket, takes out another cigarette and doesn’t acknowledge how meek Gordon sounds. What happened to being level headed and knowledgeable? Roger snorts, thinking how can you blame shit like this on something like hormones?

 

“Mark is probably worried,” Roger says, lighting up and heading for the door. He wants to prove Mimi wrong. That he did love her, show her how he’ll be fine for her. And maybe he wants to hurt someone. For someone to understand what it’s like to listen to Mark telling Maureen that he’ll always love her. “Besides, in two years, you’ll be over it, right?”


End file.
